First world problems, I know. But repeating that to myself doesn’t seem to make them sting any less.
“I read that freaking manual so many times,” I whisper hoarsely into his shoulder. “It should be simple. It is simple. I’m just anidiot who can’t do anything anymore.”
“It is true,” I insist. It’s a testament to his many powers that he can even understand me at this point. I’m blubbering all overhim like some pathetic, helpless, silver spoon princess who’s never even had to tie her own shoelaces.
He holds the water to my lips. “Drink,” he commands. Reluctantly, I do as he says. When I swallow, he looks down at me andasks, “Better?”
“No. The bassinet still looks like a dumpster fire. Actually, it would be better off if it were in an actual, literal dumpster fire.”
“I know you can. That’
